Courtyard House: I fish in the heavens, a professional bird abuser.

The tip of the knife was pressed against Kane's Adam's apple, so close that you could see the blue veins throbbing beneath the thin layer of skin.

Kane's body stiffened.

The last trace of composure finally vanished from his light gray eyes. In their place lay a raw, primal fear—the fear of prey pinned under the claws of a predator.

He Yuanchao gave him no chance to catch his breath.

"explain."

One word.

Kane's lips trembled slightly, and the sound squeezed out from his throat, dry as if he were sanding sandpaper.

"Everyone—"

He raised his right hand.

The hand was trembling, and the fingers were as if they were frostbitten and wouldn't obey its commands, but it was finally raised.

"Put down your weapons."

The Umbrella soldiers in the square looked at each other in bewilderment.

They were highly trained, and obedience to orders was ingrained in their very being. But this order came too suddenly and too absurdly—one second they had an overwhelming firepower advantage, and the next second their commander had a knife to his throat.

Nobody moved.

The gun was still pointed at the square, and the finger was still on the trigger.

He Yuanchao pushed his knife forward one millimeter.

Kane's neck was pierced, and a drop of dark red blood slowly slid down the blade, dripping onto the lapel of his well-tailored dark blue suit.

"Say it again." He Yuanchao's voice was flat.

"Put down your weapons!!"

Kane shouted it out.

The roar, sharp and piercing like a dog whose tail has been stepped on, echoed throughout the square, startling several zombies rummaging through a pile of wrecked cars who turned to look.

This time, someone made a move.

The first soldier to put down his gun was an older soldier. He pointed his assault rifle downwards and slowly placed it on the ground at his feet.

Once there's a first, there's bound to be a second.

"Clang."

"Clang."

The sound of guns hitting the ground echoed repeatedly, like a belated surrender ceremony.

He Yuanchao's gaze never left Kane.

But out of the corner of his eye, he scanned the area—of the eighteen soldiers, fifteen had already laid down their weapons. The remaining three stood behind the armored vehicle, their guns lowered but not yet released, their eyes still showing hesitation.

"Alice."

He knew where she was without even turning around.

"Put your gun away."

Alice emerged from the mist.

Her blonde hair, damp from the fire sprinklers, clung to her face, but her blue eyes were sharper than ever. She slowly swept the Beretta rifle across the three soldiers who hadn't fully lowered their weapons from left to right.

No need to speak.

That murderous aura emanating from his very bones was more effective than any words.

Three guns fell to the ground.

Jill led Payton and several armed survivors out from behind cover. Payton's legs were still trembling, but his hand holding the gun was steady—the revolver was pointed at the head of the nearest Umbrella soldier.

"Get the fuck down! Hands on your heads!" Payton's voice boomed across the square. "Anyone who dares to move will be in trouble!"

Convenience store owners also swarmed in, carrying shotguns and kitchen knives, but they looked quite professional. The bald firefighter, carrying his fire axe, had his eyes gleaming, as if he wanted to find someone to chop him up a couple of times to vent his anger.

He Yuanchao pushed Kane forward a step.

The knife was still at his neck and hadn't been removed.

"Come on. Upstairs. You will personally take me to see those three helicopters."

Kane's legs were a little weak, and he was walking with a limp.

He Yuanchao had to grab the back of his collar with his other hand, as if he were carrying a half-dead fish, and drag him toward the city hall gate.

The lobby on the first floor of the city hall has been converted into a temporary command post by the people under the protection of the Umbrella Corporation.

Several desks pushed together were set up with communication equipment and ammunition boxes, and a tactical map of Raccoon City was posted on the wall, marked with a bunch of circles and arrows in red marker.

He Yuanchao glanced at the annotations.

One large red circle is drawn at the location of the city hall, with the words "Evacuation Point" written next to it. Another large red cross is drawn in the city center, with the words "Zero Hour" next to it.

Midnight.

The impact point of a nuclear bomb.

He Yuanchao pushed Kane into the elevator—the elevator was still working, and the city hall had its own diesel generator.

The sixth floor.

The elevator doors opened.

A gust of wind carrying the smells of engine oil and aviation fuel blew in.

He Yuanchao dragged Kane onto the rooftop helipad.

Three UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters were parked there in a neat row.

The rotor blades have been unlocked and are ready to be activated at any time. The fuselage is painted with matte black paint and has no serial numbers or markings—like the armored vehicle below, Umbrella's private equipment never leaves a trace.

Two pilots were sitting in the cockpit of the first helicopter, ready to go.

They saw Kane being led in with a knife to his neck by a strange man, their eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

"Sir...sir?"

"Shut up," Kane's voice was forced out through clenched teeth.

He Yuanchao tossed Kane aside, told Alice to keep an eye on him, and walked to the cockpit of the first Black Hawk.

He opened the driver's door and peeked inside.

The instrument panel was a standard UH-60A model; the rotor tachometer, altimeter, attitude gauge, and fuel gauge—all models he had learned to use later in the "Bright Sword" series. Back then, in order to achieve rapid assaults on the battlefield, he specifically had a Soviet advisor teach him helicopter piloting for a month.

The fuel gauge needle is pointing to the full mark.

well.

He then went to see the second and third aircraft.

The tanks are full.

Three Black Hawk helicopters, each capable of holding eleven people when fully loaded. That's thirty-three seats in total. They had thirty-one survivors plus two pilots—just right.

But there is still one problem.

He Yuanchao glanced back at Kane.

"Which plane carries your 'equipment' and 'data storage'?"

Kane didn't want to answer, but the knife wound on his neck was still bleeding, so he had to speak.

"The third one. The rear cabin."

He Yuanchao walked to the rear cabin of the third Black Hawk.

The hatch was opened.

It was filled with boxes.

The military-green metal crates were emblazoned with the Umbrella logo. Each crate was securely fastened to the bulkhead with reinforcing straps.

He Yuanchao opened the largest one.

Inside is a portable cryogenic storage device, with a screen displaying a temperature reading of minus eighty degrees Celsius, containing numbered biological sample tubes.

Next to it was a smaller silver briefcase—exquisitely crafted, with a fingerprint-enabled lock.

He Yuanchao picked up the silver box and looked at it for two seconds.

"Is this your 'life-saving box'?"

Kane's face paled.

He Yuanchao did not open it on the spot.

He stored all the boxes—the cryogenic storage unit and the silver briefcase—into his system space.

Then he returned to the center of the tarmac, facing the two pilots who were still sitting in the cockpit, lost in thought.

"You two, listen up."

He Yuanchao's voice wasn't loud, but it carried far on the empty rooftop.

"From now on, you will work for me. Do a good job, and I'll save your lives. Don't—Kane is your example."

He glanced back at Kane, who was being pinned to the ground by Alice.

The former major was lying face down on the concrete floor, half of his face was pressed down, and his posture was extremely wretched.

The two pilots exchanged glances.

"Understood, sir."

The answer was quick.

He Yuanchao nodded.

He walked to the edge of the tarmac and looked down at the plaza below.

Jill was already organizing the survivors into a line. Payton, using an iron rod as a cane, stood beside the line maintaining order. The old pastor was praying for a weeping woman. Two high school students were helping a mother and son move their belongings.

The headless bronze statue still stands in the middle of the square, casting a short shadow in the morning light.

He Yuanchao raised his head.

I glanced at the sky.

Nothing could be seen in the hazy sky.

But he knew that behind that gray expanse, somewhere, a B-2 stealth bomber was flying in at 900 kilometers per hour.

The object hanging inside the fuselage will erase this land from the map in less than two hours.

"Everyone upstairs," He Yuanchao shouted downstairs.

"Within ten minutes."

"No exceptions after this time."